


the little things are infinitely the most important

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katherine introduces Jack to Sherlock Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	the little things are infinitely the most important

Jack slumped over his sketchpad, charcoal pencil dangling from his fingers, shoulders hunched. The World was empty, he was the last one left at his desk. His latest cartoon, one about Tammany Hall, was all but done, but he was too tried to put the finishing touches on it.

A hand gripped his shoulder, firmly but not rough. The voice of Malcolm Wentworth, one of the senior reporters, said sternly above his head, “Go home, Kelly. It’s late and you look half-dead.”

“Thanks a lot, Mal,” Jack grumbled, but he hauled himself upright anyway, shoving stray papers and pencils into his old newsie bag, which was now where he carried his sketches to work and back forth. Mal helped him and when the bag was full, he said not without kindness, “Go home to your wife boy, and let her tend to you.”

Jack made his way home, the streets of New York at least, more awake than he felt. The week had been long and as glad as he was to see the end of it, he ached for home and quiet. Chances were good he wasn’t going to get it, because there was always someone at their home it seemed and neither he nor Katherine had the heart to turn them away. But he made it back somehow, his feet slow and his eyes fixed towards the door at the end of the hall.

Their apartment was blessedly quiet, and the gratitude Jack felt made him feel shamed for a moment. But Katherine was sitting on the couch, awash in the golden glow of a lamp, a halo around her hair and a book in her hand and he forgot it for now.

She looked up when he came in and smiled, getting up and coming to him, taking his bag and pulling him in close for an embrace. Jack let his bag thud to the floor as he buried his face in her hair, smelled lavender and ink.

“You’re home late,” she murmured in his ear. “There’s dinner if you want it.”

“You might have to feed me, Ace,” he replied, forehead resting on her shoulder. “Never been so tired before.”

She snorted softly and kissed his hair. “Well, come on cowboy. Let’s get you fed.”

Despite Jack’s predictions, he ate warmed up pork chops and green beans all on his power, as Katherine sat beside him, buttering pieces of bread for the two of them. When he had eaten, he followed Katherine back to the sofa and sank down next to her, his body tilting forward until his head landed in her lap.

Above his head, he heard her quiet laugh and two small, warm hands carded through his hair. He sighed and melted further into her. “I went to the library today,” she told him, scraping her nails gently across his scalp as he shuddered slightly at the sensation. “Got a few new books.”

Jack opened his eyes to look up at her smiling down at him, eyes creased in affectionate amusement. “Yeah? Which ones?”

Katherine absently twined strands of his hair around her fingers, admiring the dark waves. “Some from a British author, he’s very popular. I read them when I was younger, I’m picking them up again now.”

“A British writer, huh?” Jack settled back against her, comfortably ensconced. “What’s he write?”

“Detective stories,” Katherine replied. “Mysteries, crime, that kind of thing. His name’s Arthur Conan Doyle. I think he’s been knighted now.”

“You can do that?” Jack asked, looking up at her, his eyes wide. “Make some guy a knight? Thought that only happened in fairy tales.”

Katherine laughed softly. “Well, you can only do it in England. And the Queen has to make it official.”

Jack sighed and let his eyes drift shut. “So what’s this book about?”

“Well,” Katherine said, shifting slightly with her book to get comfortable, “I’ll tell you.”

“You gonna read to me, Ace?” Jack asked with a smile and Katherine’s gave his hair one more affectionate tug.

“I will if you promise not to interrupt,” she said mock sternly and Jack made a half-hearted grumbling sound of protest. Katherine ignored this and flipped back to the first pages, pausing for a moment for Jack to kick off his shoes and put his feet on the couch, lying out full stretched. She cleared her throat and began seriously, “‘A Study in Scarlet: being a reprint of the reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., late of the Army Medical Department. By A. Conan Doyle.”

“You couldn’t sell a pape with a headline that long,” Jack muttered with his eyes closed and Katherine gave his hair another quick yank to hush him. She continued, unperturbed: _“In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. …I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Barts.”_

“Are we gonna get to the story _now_?” Jack asked, exasperated.

“We’re getting there,” Katherine assured him, not blaming him for his impatience. “Okay, where was I…oh yes.” She picked up again, _“…‘Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,’ said Stamford, introducing us. ‘How are you?’ he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. ‘You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.’_

_“‘How on earth did you know that?’ I asked in astonishment…”_

“How _did_ he know that?” Jack asked, but closed his eyes to listen better. He was lulled by the rhythms of Katherine’s voice, warm and low and clear, though now that the story had gotten interesting, he paid close attention.

Katherine enjoyed reading aloud, the weight of Jack’s head warm against her thigh. She wasn’t good at imitating voices, but she loved to narrate. Jack was a good audience. He made sounds of appreciation, disbelief or astonishment at all the right parts.

_“‘But the Solar System!’ I protested._

_“‘What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; ‘you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.’”_

“This guy would drive Davey _crazy_ ,” Jack remarked.

When Katherine reached the end of the third chapter, her voice was growing hoarse. “Hold that thought,” Jack told her and got up from the sofa to go into the kitchen. He came back shortly with a glass of water and when Katherine accepted gratefully, he said, “We can finish this story later, Ace.”

“I can keep going,” she assured him and he immediately settled back down, his head in her lap.

_“‘It’s the Baker Street division of the detective police force," said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped eyes on. ‘Tention!" cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. "In future you shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must wait in the street. Have you found it, Wiggins?”_

_“‘No, sir, we hain’t,’ said one of the youths._

_“‘I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do. Here are your wages.’ He handed each of them a shilling. “‘Now, off you go, and come back with a better report next time.’ He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street.”_

“Hope he paid enough,” Jack murmured. “Maybe we should try that sometime.”

“In later books, they’re called the Baker Street Irregulars,” Katherine told him.

“The Irregulars,” Jack echoed, trying out the word. “I kinda like that.”

Finally, after three more cups of water, Jack told Katherine they should finish the story tomorrow.

“I like that Watson guy,” he said as they got ready for bed together. “But Sherlock? He’s kind of rude, isn’t he? I mean, if _I_ had to live with him, I’d probably kill him after a day.”

Katherine laughed as she slipped under the covers. “Well, the adventures they have are pretty exciting. And Sherlock is a very loyal friend to Watson. We’ll get through the stories together.”

Jack crawled into the bed next to her, curving around her like spoons in a drawer. “I’d like that,” he said into her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> my first ever posted work here. *bites nails*


End file.
